Felicity
by subject2reality
Summary: A re-imagining of the final confrontation between Sam and Dean as Sam is consumed by his dark side and Dean must fight to save his brother. How far will they take it? Features heavily both Ruby and Tessa the reaper. Please R&R.
1. The Cold Touch

**PROLOGUE: THE COLD TOUCH.**

Darkness had fallen rapidly this night, its blackness made thicker by the accompanying rain. The heavy shards of water fell from the sky with suicidal intensity, crashing to earth and splintering into streams and puddles. The orange of the street lamps caught the drops in a fiery haze as they fell, their light catching inside them for the briefest of moments. It held them, glorified them before their doom.

It was a natural beauty Dean Winchester had not appreciated before. Simple and yet calming in a way that subdued the raging demons inside of him. He just stared at them as he waited for the inevitable. Watched them fall through the light.

The rain pounded the frame of his impala, the sound deafening like metal crashing into metal. A constant blanket of sound, the drumming dulled to a mellifluous lullaby in his ears, threatened to coax him into unconsciousness. But he couldn't let it even if it did feel like bliss right about now.

He still hurt, he still hurt a lot. The warm sticky feeling of his own blood still clung to his midsection, still ebbed from the two inch bullet hole in his gut. He could feel himself leaking out over the upholstery of his beloved vehicle, the wetness thick beneath his thighs, soaking through his jeans. Sweat peppered his brow and a metallic taste stung at the back of his throat. His head felt like it was submerged in a sea of nails. But still he was content...

It was past midnight now, he had lost track of how long he had been waiting here in this deserted street. On both sides of him tall apartment buildings climbed up into the darkness above. No lights came from the windows, no evidence of anybody residing within. The normal people, Dean thought, with their normal lives tucked up safe in bed with their pleasant dreams for company. Not that he envied them of course, at least not anymore. Their ignorance was a comfort blanket he no longer needed nor desired. Let them have their four walls, Dean decided, and their nine until five job with the two and half kids, they deserved it...the dicks.

A smile crept upon his lips and then disappeared behind a wince of pain. He shifted, placed his hand over his wound. He was still bleeding steadily. The flow had slowed but it was still constant. There would not be long now, a cloud of fog began to descend upon the world, swallowing the end of the street from sight.

In his other hand, Dean still clutched his favoured colt, all its ammunition spent. It offered no defence for him now but he still found its presence comforting. He knew for him the fighting was done with but old habits died hard.

A sigh escaped Dean's lips. He tried not to think about all that had happened this past week but how could he not? Everything had finally come together in a tangled mess of violence and now it was over, well nearly. This was the first time he had actually been able to sit and take stock and he found himself not wanting to. The feelings conjured by contemplation where overpowering. A lonely sickness swelled in his bleeding gut and a rueful weight enveloped his mind.

This was not how things were supposed to be.

Dean looked over at the empty passenger side of his car. He thought of his brother Sam, choked back a pained groan and wiped his nose with his gun hand. His brother was supposed to be here now, but he wasn't. He hadn't been around for a long time, had been gone for longer than Dean had even known.

Sinking further into his seat, Dean clenched his eyes shut, focused on the sound of the rain as it pounded the earth, he prayed for it to drown out the turbulent thoughts in his head. But it didn't. Nothing could, nothing but the sweet embrace he was fast heading toward. That was the only escape and even then Dean knew it wouldn't be the end.

Where was he headed this time, up or down? Dean could not even bring himself to consider another eternity spent on the rack below in the wretched anarchy of hell. Surely he had done enough this past week to escape that place, he had failed yes but he had fought harder than any man could. Surely that scored him some angel points, a fake identity badge to get past the pearly gates. Perhaps it did but in the dark recesses of his head he couldn't help thinking he was still bound to the fiery below. The things he had done, there was no penance.

He took a deep breath, filled his chest to capacity and let it collapse. He smiled quietly suddenly sensing a presence next to him. Finally...

Dean turned and opened his eyes. A young woman sat in the passenger's seat next to him. She was beautiful, dark hair spilling around a face with rounded and soft features. She was petite with a curved figure wrapped in a simple pair of jeans with a vest top and leather jacket. She was Dean's idea of a good time. Dark eyes stared at him; they burned with a sultry mystery as they looked him up and down. She smiled. "Hello Dean," she spoke softly, her voice calming like audio chocolate.

"I was hoping it would be you Tessa," Dean said, his voice strained by the pain that curdled inside him. His throat stung with every word.

"Who else would it be?" She said with a wide smile that carried a delicate sadness behind it. It was something in her eyes, a glimmer of wistful sorrow. "I've had my eye on you for a while now Dean."

Dean chuckled, felt a trickle of blood gargle at the back of his throat. "Been waiting for me to punch my ticket huh?"

Tessa turned and stared out down the street. "In a way, you could say that. You've already had so many second chances Dean. I get all excited and you slip the noose time after time."

"We all have our skills I guess." Dean looked down at his bloodied lap. His grey t-shirt was stained black by all the blood, by his life as it fell away from him. He was dying; he said it aloud in his head. Tessa's appearance had brought it home. She was a reaper here to collect his soul, take it to that beautiful lie of a better place. And now he did not want to go, even after all the horror of the past seven days, even though he had lost everything his instincts still clung to that next breath.

"I don't think I'm ready," Dean said absently, staring blankly ahead. His face was twisted into a pained grimace and a tear balled in the corner of his eye. It fell down his cheek and washed with the blood that had seeped from the fresh cuts on his face. "I mean I'm dying right? That's why you're here?"

"Why else?"

"A date," Dean suggested looking to Tessa and flashing one of his trademark grins.

She smiled back. "I like you Dean but I'm not the dating type."

Dean nodded, struggled to hold back his desperation as it manifested in more tears. "But I can't go now. It isn't over yet..." he stared ahead, thought of the battles still to come. It was all still in the balance.

"It is for you Dean," Tessa said catching Dean's eyes and holding his stare in the beauty of her eyes."You've suffered enough, given all that you can. It's time to rest."

Dean stared at her, felt his last hopes fall like bricks from a crumbling wall. There was no resolve left, Tessa's disarming allure leaving him in the grip of her will. "I guess you're right," he said, "and I guess I have been waiting for you too. That hole only ever got bigger since last we met."

"You saved my life then."

"And you're not going to return the favour now?"

"Dean..."

Dean chuckled. "Yeah, I didn't think so. Don't suppose you know where I'm headed do you? Should I pack for hot weather?"

"I can't say Dean but if it was up to me I know where you would be going. You would be first in line," she smiled and reached for his hand. Her skin was warm as her fingers entwined with his and pulled them away from his wound. She brought his hand up to her lips and brushed them against his skin in a tender kiss. The sensation was electric. "Are you ready now Dean?"

Dean stared at her, bewitched. "What about Sam?"

"It's not up to you to stop him anymore," Tessa said, still holding his hand, his blood running down her pale skin.

"He's my brother, I have to..." Dean stopped, a surge of white hot pain rushing through him, squeezing him and coiling into a barbed ball inside. He panted breathless. "Is it...happening..?"

Tess came toward him, pulled him into an embrace, his body trembling, his breaths panicked. She whispered into his ear, her breath cold as ice. "Hush Dean, it will be alright. Trust me, it's time to let go of this world"

Consumed with the pain, Dean struggled to speak. He was going numb, his body shutting down, giving up the fight finally. "Someone has to stop him...I...could still...save him."

Tess continued to hush him, and the world began to dim. Colours faded to blacks and whites. The pain vanished from his body and all he could feel was Tessa close to him. The sound of the rain was gone. It was silent but for his slowing rasped breaths and the beat of his heart as it echoed in his chest.

Tessa closed her eyes, began to run her fingers through his hair. "Finally we're together." She whispered.

For a brief moment Dean saw his father, saw his brother and his mother; all of them together having dinner at the table. They were smiling, happy all of them. The world went white and Dean left it, eyes wide and cold but a vintage smile of warmth on his lips.


	2. After the Levee Broke

**PART I: THE SEVENTH DAY.**

**CHAPTER 1: AFTER THE LEVEE BROKE.**

_You walk out that door don't you ever come back: _What a thing to say.

Dean lay on his back, a numbing ache filtering through his muscles. He could feel the warmth of blood trickling from his nostril, felt it gliding down from the cut above his eye. His head hurt worse than any hangover he had had before. He didn't want to move and not just because of the physical pain. If he rose to his feet then the only choice left to him would be to rejoin the world, something which at this point in time held very little appeal. There was nothing out there worth living for anymore.

A realisation to unlock the door to despair, Dean's head was a static mess of thoughts, the most prominent of which being the fight he had just endured with his brother Sam. The cuts would heal, since his time in hell Dean's threshold for pain had risen considerably – after being dragged by a meat-hook through the shoulder over a bed of shattered glass a few pops to the face were a walk in the park. No, the real concern was what lay beneath unseen.

Again, after his experiences in the wretched below, Dean had been left weakened within. His psyche had been strained to the point of catatonia, no soul could endure what he had and not feel as such, and his will and resolve had been frayed to the last desperate threads. This latest spat with Sam might just be enough to snap him.

Despite all the warnings, the constant arguments and deliberations, even through the objections of their father and God himself, Sam had done as he had pleased. Whoever it was that had just had their hands wrapped around Dean's neck, they weren't his brother, not anymore. They were the product of Sam's indulgence, his self righteous belief that he could control his powers even if they were born of evil intent. His ignorance had done this, broken him and consumed him until there was nothing of the old Sam left. Now there was only what Ruby had fashioned him to be.

Ruby; that bitch! A surge of anger helped Dean rise groggily to his feet. He wiped the blood from his nose and spat a streak of reddened saliva from his mouth. He looked at the debris around him, broken wood and glass strewn in a violent mess. His eyes rose to the broken mirror, the one Sam had introduced his face to not too long ago. His reflection was unfamiliar, tired and worn, beaten and ghostly. It was like he could see into his frail insides.

Staring at himself, Dean thought of giving up. Throw in the towel, why not? Ever since he was a child he had lived by a simple code; protect Sam, protect his brother, his blood. For all these years that was exactly what he had done. He had looked out for him, taken care of the oaf and supported him. Even when Sam had abandoned Dean and their father to go to school, Dean had supported him somewhere deep inside. So fierce was Dean's loyalty to his brother, he had sacrificed himself to bring Sam back after he was killed by Jake, a choice that had resulted in Dean's stay in the devil's company. Even after that Sam refused to listen, failed to compromise. Not a single word had gotten through; it was as if Sam didn't care.

So why should he?

Tightening his hands into fists, dean stared ahead. His face trembled with rage, lip quivering and eyes glowering with menace. The most important thing in his life, what had defined him and carried him through all these years as a hunter had just abandoned him. It walked out the door with the monster that was once his brother. There was simply nothing left, no reason to go on. There was nothing but the almost uncontrollable rage and inconsolable pain that collided inside of him.

Before he knew what he was doing, Dean slammed his fist into the mirror and roared with ferocious intent. The rest of the glass cracked and crashed to the ground. Dean's full reflection was gone but twisted fragments still caught in the pieces of glass that lay at his feet.

Taking a deep breath, Dean left the motel room.

The sky overhead was overcast, depressing greys and whites swirled together into jagged masses of foreboding. Dean drove in silence, no radio or rock music, only the voices in his head. There were only his own thoughts for company, which was how it would have to be from now on.

It took a few hours to drive to Bobby's and by the time Dean pulled up outside his tired looking house the beginnings of a storm had arrived. As Dean stepped out from his impala a rumble of thunder groaned from far off in the distance. He waited and a flash of fork lightning tore from the darkened clouds into the earth below. Maybe this was a sign.

Letting himself inside, Dean found Bobby waiting for him behind his desk, a mound of books surrounding him. The room smelt like an old bookstore with a faint whiff of alcohol and burnt charcoal from the fireplace.

Bobby looked tired, his cap pulled low so it cast a shadow over his face. Bruised bags had swelled beneath his eyes. He too, like Dean, was a vision of exhaustion.

Looking Dean up and down, Bobby sighed. "You look like shit! I guess that means you found him?" he said with his whiskey curdled voice.

Dean nodded and came over to rest against the desk. He picked up one of the open books and pulled his bottle of bourbon from inside his jacket. Taking a swig he grimaced at the images of human souls being tormented in hell depicted on the open page and tossed the book back onto the desk. It landed with a thud and Bobby looked from the book back to Dean.

"You want to talk about it?" Bobby asked

Dean broke into a smile and took another deep drink from his bourbon, "Nothing to say."

"Well what happened?"

"What the hell do you think happened Bobby," Dean replied sharply, his voice heightening. "Sam didn't listen to anything I had to say! He's gone Bobby; I mean he is really gone."

Bobby rose from his chair with a heavy sigh and walked over to his window. He stared out of it, into the greying haze of dusk. There was another rumble of thunder, this one louder and more intense like a lion's roar. "There's a storm coming," Bobby said his voice distant. "And we're stuck goddamn in the middle of it, son of a bitch." He turned and fixed Dean with a stare. "You should have done more," he said, "you should have reasoned with him. But no you had to play it like you always do, like a blunt hammer."

Dean nearly choked on his drink. He steadily straightened onto his feet and turned to face Bobby. His eyes tensed. "I should have done more? Are you out of your goddamn mind or are you just getting senile." Dean's voice trembled with all the pain and anger he had cultivated since his clash with Sam. "It was Sam who slammed the door in my face, he started this. He had his hands around my throat and I swear to god he could have killed me. I honestly thought he was going to and he nearly did."

Bobby stared at him, his eyes shimmering with disbelief. Dean could see the pain behind them but right now he couldn't care. He went on, "He is so far gone now Bobby I don't think there is any way back for him."

Bobby came toward Dean, his hands grabbed the lapels of his jacket and he forced him back up against the bookcase, various volumes falling from the shelf with the impact. There was another crack of thunder, a flash of lightning lighting up the room. "How can you say that?" Bobby raged with spittle flying into Dean's surprised face.

Undeterred, Dean shrugged Bobby off of him and shoved him forcefully away. Bobby stumbled back and nearly toppled over. "I can say it because it's true. I don't know what it was I found in that motel room but it wasn't Sam. Sam is gone Bobby!" Dean cried.

"Don't you say that Dean. How can you say that, he's your brother."

The anger in Dean's voice subsided; he no longer had the will to argue anymore. A rueful smile spread across his lips and his eyes glazed over. "You think I don't know that Bobby. I have done more for that kid than anyone has ever done for anybody. I went to hell for him; I've never given up on him. You forget that Bobby?"

Bobby's face fell. "Dean..." his voice was timid.

A tear rolled down Dean's cheek as his turbulent emotions swung over to regret. "You know all this time everything has been about Sam, even with dad it was always about Sam and now with all this demon crap it's still about Sam and you know what, I'm tired of it. I'm sick of it and I've had enough of just taking the licks. I know my brother Bobby, my true brother and that _thing _I just tussled with wasn't him. He's nothing but Ruby's puppet now."

Pulling his hands over his face, Bobby just about managed to disguise the tear that had fallen down his cheek. "So what do you want to do then Dean?"

Dean nodded, relieved Bobby had given up the fight, right now the last thing he wanted to do was listen to pained reasoning. Now was time for action, to stop living in the shadow of his brother's defiance. He was the only one that could stop Sam now.

He cleared his throat. "We have to find him. Like you say a storm is coming, something major. The last seals are breaking and I have a pretty damn good feeling that Sam is tied into all of this. There'll' be signs, demon signs. I want you to look into it, see what you can dig up. I need to talk to Castiel; the angels must know something about what's coming."

"Alright Dean, I'll help you but there's one condition."

"Yeah, and what's that?"

"After all this is done with, I'm finished with this life. I want nothing to do with you or any of this bullshit. I'm going to officially retire. I'm just too weary for this life."

Dean stopped a moment not quiet able to grasp the notion of being fully alone without Bobby. Still, he would not let his sadness show. "So be it," he said and turned to leave.

"Dean," Bobby called after him. "One more question."

Dean stopped and reluctantly turned. "Yeah," he said quietly.

"When you find him, Sam or whatever it is you think he is now, just what are you going to do?"

Dean set his jaw, lulled his head to one side in thought. Reaching deep into the flames of anger that burned inside him he allowed the smoke to swill and clog his thoughts. And there it was; his resolve, his desire to adhere to his defining principle in life. Protect Sam, no matter the cost. There was no way he would ever let his brother become a monster, become one of the things they despised. He fixed Bobby with a determined look. "I'll do whatever it takes!"


	3. Death on Your Tail

**CHAPTER 2: DEATH ON YOUR TAIL.**

The rain lashed hard but Tessa didn't notice as she stood in the open doorway into the motel room. She watched quietly as the proprietor busied himself cleaning the debris left in the Winchester's wake. She couldn't help but smile to herself as she listened to the tirade of abuse that fell from the man's shrewd little mouth.

"Goddamn homo's," the man exclaimed, "having the gall to indulge in a lover's tiff in _my _goddamn motel. Sneaking in to find his boyfriend with a woman must have been tough but still shouldn't have gone off like this, son of a bitch."

Tessa stepped out of the pouring rain into the relatively warm room. She studied the broken shards of glass and gnarled lengths of wood cluttered across the carpet. She closed her eyes and she thought of the violence of the confrontation, retread backwards to that tantalising moment when Sam's hands wrapped around Dean's neck. It was in that moment she arrived unseen looking over Sam's shoulder. She had watched and she could feel the pressure on Dean's windpipe as it threatened to rob him of any continued life. It had been so close. She could almost feel him in her arms.

But it wasn't time.

Sam had left and Dean had all but banished him from returning. Tessa had stayed, studied Dean intently as he lay unmoving and unaware of her presence. She had watched him struggle to his feet, felt his rage as it built to a crescendo resulting in a fist driven into the mirror.

Tessa could feel his pain at his brother's betrayal and she had let it wash over her, it had made the hairs on her human flesh stand on end. Now, she lulled her eyes shut and conjured the sensation back to her. Her breath caught in her throat and she gasped. The sensation was unlike anything she had felt before. It was beyond intriguing and it was why she lingered here now.

The grumble of thunder sounded far off in the distance followed by the inevitable flash of lightning. It was a beautiful night.

Breathing deep, Tessa took the aroma of the room into her nostrils. It smelt like cheap drink, cheap tobacco and cheap women. And yet it was fascinating. Everything about this human world was becoming increasingly intriguing, ever since she first encountered the elder Winchester two years ago. More and more she had submersed herself within it, neglecting her duties as a reaper. She struggled not to but another encounter with Dean not long ago, hearing him say such beautiful things to her, even saving her life, had made it almost irresistible.

Dean's soul was the pull, the one that got away. His power over her was intolerable, for her superiors and for her somewhere deep down where she was still able to discern her duty from her addiction.

The motel proprietor breezed past Tessa, blissfully unaware of her presence. He stopped for a moment in the doorway, cursed and slammed the door shut. Tessa watched him leave, the sound of rain applauding against the windows the only distraction from the ear-splitting silence that descended upon the room. She took another deep breath; her mind tumbled backwards to the day she watched Dean die.

It had been unbearably violent and cruel, unjust that he should leave in such a way, his body savaged by the claws of the hellhounds. Yet the nobility behind it, the romance contained within Dean's motivations for accepting this fate; it had been fascinating to Tessa. So she watched, came toward Dean and took his hand, him not feeling her touch nor seeing her chosen form. The fear in his eyes, she had wished more than anything that she could ease the pain but he wasn't hers to take. His soul belonged to another as he was dragged kicking and screaming to the pit below.

Sad, so very sad, Tessa thought now as she stood and remembered.

Dean was hers of that she was sure. He returned from his false demise and now she would get the chance to claim her ultimate prize and she would finally be able to leave this fascination of hers behind. His romance with death, his romance with her would soon reach its culmination. It was written in the stars hidden behind the monstrous dark of the thunder clouds. She could feel it now and she shuddered.

"Why are you here Tessa?"

A man's voice drifted gently across from the other side of the room, stirred Tessa from her wondering thoughts. She turned to see the intimidating form of Gabriel watching her from the corner. He was smiling, the porcelain facial skin of his vessel stretched into dimples. Blue eyes stared at her, their colour vibrant like cold fluorescent flames. Sandy hair fell upon his brow and covered his ears. He looked like an ordinary man in an ordinary brown suit. Tall and muscular, his aura was tangible, it was fear itself.

Tessa smiled. "Are you keeping tabs on me now?"

Gabriel's smile widened. "Someone has to; your infatuation is beginning to affect the balance. The Winchester boys are no concern of yours."

Tessa's smile disappeared behind the melancholy typical of her demeanour and existence. She looked away. "I don't know what you mean."

"Please Tessa," Gabriel came forward; "do not treat me as a fool. You really thought it would go unnoticed. Dean Winchester is very important to us. I watch over him and so it is I find you always following behind."

"You don't know what it's like..."

Gabriel shook his head, his fringe falling to one side. "I do, that boy is in love with death. He is its instrument, which is why I chose him. That is his destiny. But Tessa please, do not misread, he is not in love with you rather than what you represent."

Tessa's eyes fell to the ground. "I am not some foolish girl with a crush Gabriel."

"And I said no such thing. I am just here to make sure you're singing from the same hymn sheet as everyone else. The apocalypse is coming; there will be much work for you."

Tessa looked into Gabriel's eyes. They were as cold and unflinching as any angel's, there was no humanity there, no character or glow of warmth. This was something that would never have bothered her before. She was fast becoming the most hopeless of all reapers, finding and feeling things that were the blessing of humanity.

"And this apocalypse, it cannot be stopped?" she asked.

Gabriel shook his head. "It is the only way to paradise."

"And what of Dean's part?"

"I will unleash him as my right hand. He will be the instrument of their destruction; the boy will be the most fearsome of my warriors."

"And Sam?"

"The younger Winchester is not of my concern but he will play his part in bringing Dean to the fight. Dean's reluctance is born of his loyalty to his brother, loyalty that is fast weakening. Everything is falling into place."

Tessa sighed, tried to shake off her need to satisfy the lust inside her, tried to claw her way back to her former self. "What would you have me do then Gabriel?"

A smile returned to Gabriel's lips. "Yes you have a part to play as well. Do not fear my girl, you will find resolution for your craving, I promise you."

Tessa's eyes lit up like the dying embers of a fire. Could it be true, were her instincts correct. "We will be together?"

Gabriel chuckled. "You do nothing until the time is right, you stop lingering around the Winchester's and you wait for me to call on you and then yes, I will grant you what it is you desire."

Tessa smiled, her mind sparking at the possibility of finally reeling in her lost soul, in bringing a two year yearn to a close with the death of Dean Winchester.


	4. The Road to Awe

**CHAPTER 3: THE ROAD TO AWE.**

Dean stood in the gushing rain, his clothes soaked through and his skin trembling so much it felt like it was moving across his bones. Sporadically the sky was set alight by the forks of lightning that scythed downwards, igniting the granite texture of the clouds that masked the great sky above. The sound was consuming as raindrops fell to the earth, rattling against the scrap metal of the rusted carcasses of the vehicles stacked in Bobby's salvage yard. The earth beneath him had softened to a viscous mud and Dean felt himself sinking further deeper both physically and mentally.

It was like dialling a phone only instead of pressing keys you had to scream, beg, curse and pray. Angels certainly didn't like to make things easy. Dean must have been out here for a good few hours, at least it felt as much. His throat was hoarse, his lungs felt like they had spent a lifetime's worth of air. And still he cried to the black nothing above, shouted to be heard above the growling thunder.

Bobby hadn't come to check on him once even though Dean could still see the tender glow of his kerosene lamp throwing its light against the closed curtains of the window. He must still be researching, Dean convinced himself, and too caught up in his literature to think of what Dean was doing out here all this time.

Alone, out here against the elements, Dean had had plenty of time to think, more time than he was accustomed to. His anger had subsided, extinguished by the heavy downpour as it drowned his trembling form in its cleansing embrace.

He thought of Sammy, his little brother, the kid always afraid of becoming an outsider or worse; a freak. The memories were as real in this moment as when they had occurred and so were the emotions they claimed. The affection, the need to protect his blood had resurfaced and with it came a sobering rush of guilt. Against that his anger stood little chance. All those times Dean had done all in his power to protect Sam and now what; one little disagreement and he was going to flush it all away? What kind of man would that make him?

There is no greater strength than the bond of blood; family was the fabric with which Dean had sewn his life. It was the root through which he grew, found nourishment and hope. In hell it had been Sam's name he had screamed, it had been the precious memories of the Winchester clan that he had clung to. It was Winchester blood that Alastair had spilt time and time again and now it was his time for some payback. Not just for himself but for his family line. It would be for his grandparents, for his mother, for his father and his brother.

He should have done more. Dean laid scorn upon himself. He should have been stronger but he had let Sam get the jump on him. His brother had been more determined, his will had been stronger and after their last confrontation it seemed he was the more powerful hunter. Dean had indeed become weak since his time in hell. He was not the same man anymore. The things he had done to those tormented souls back in the pit. His moral alignment had taken a severe battering and so how could he risk slipping over the edge back here in the real world where he could still make a difference? To go back to the ruthless Dean of before was to tip toe the line between the light and the dark.

He had the capacity to do great good – at least the angels believed as much – and he now knew he had the capacity to do unspeakable evil. In truth he was just as at risk of being consumed by the dark as his brother so what right did he have to judge. At least Sam had an excuse that went beyond mere human weakness.

But Dean was different now, he felt it now. He was ready to stand firm and free from the crippling fear of what might be. And he had Sam to thank for that, for giving him a literal kick up the ass. He would stop his brother from falling into the depths of his own malevolence but he would do it the right way. The knee jerk reaction had passed and now reason had taken hold out here in the cold and wet paradise of clarity.

Now if only he could get hold of some angels and hopefully some direction.

He looked into the sky, tightened his eyes as drops of heavy rain stabbed at his face. It was freezing, the water rushing down his cheeks and into his mouth. Summoning a deep breath he roared to the black above. "Come on you sons of bitches! I know you can hear me. I need your help... please. Castiel, Zachariah, anybody?"

There was no answer. Dean spat rainwater from his mouth and looked to the ground in resignation. What had he expected, a little cooperation or courtesy. Of course not as that was seemingly not the Devine way of doing things.

And then the rain stopped suddenly and all was deathly quite. The thunder ceased and the lightning along with it. Dean spun round, there was nobody there. The air was fresh, purified by the storm, a blank canvass ready to be spoilt once again. He rotated round and around now very aware of a presence. His hand pressed against his jacket and felt the comforting weight of his colt in its shoulder holster.

"Dean, there is no need for alarm. We are here to take your call."

Dean turned to see the smartly dressed figures of both Castiel and Zachariah. They both wore a shirt and tie with crisp black trousers. Castiel was snuggled inside his familiar beige trench coat while Zachariah wore a similar number in black. Identikit angels, Dean smiled. "How is it whenever I see you guys you look like you want to sell me something?" he said with a small chuckle that carried little mirth.

Castiel and Zachariah turned to each other, looked the other from head to toe and then turned their attention back to Dean without any sign of registering his words.

Zachariah took the lead as they came forwards with Castiel fading behind him wearing his typical despondent expression. Zachariah was looking as smug as ever, his over indulged face regarding Dean like a man regards an insect. It was like he had bitten into something sour. It was obvious to Dean that this particular angel regarded humans as nothing more than incompetent employees.

They came up to him; in fact they were a little too close and so Dean side-stepped and looked away. "You gals sure like to keep a guy waiting. What took you so long, I've been freezing my ass off out here... again!" he said, turning back to look at Castiel and then to Zachariah.

Zachariah spoke, a self important grin formed with his words. "There is much to be done Dean; the hour is close at hand. I really hope that one day you will realise that you are not the centre of everything."

Dean snorted, "Right, well maybe I will just as soon as you quit telling me that I am."

Zachariah gave a throaty chuckle. "Amusing Dean, almost really, but I must admit it is good to hear you're beginning to realise you have a role to play, a very important role to say the least."

Dean looked to Castiel who just stared blankly ahead. Something had happened to him, he had changed. There had been a time not long ago that Dean had seen a crack forming in Castiel's icy armour, a crack that had grown to the point that Dean was convinced that he was about to share something important with him. Cass was not like the other angels Dean had encountered. He had on occasion shown brief glimpses of compassion, a relative ability to understand and empathise with the human condition. But they had done something to him, sealed his armour up tight so he was just another self-righteous bag of hot air.

Dean turned back to Zachariah, his pompous face forcing him to tighten his hands into fists. "I swore my obedience. I will do whatever it is that you need me to."

"Very good Dean," Zachariah nodded, "then it is time..."

Dean held up his hands. "But wait just a minute. Before I do anything I need something from you."

A puzzled look befell Zachariah's face, the skin of his forehead falling into folds and his brow reaching down to his eyes. "You need something?" he said with a surprised tone. "We have danced around with you all this time as seal after seal fell and now, at this critical moment, you want to make more demands?"

Dean pushed back the feeling of guilt that nudged at his stomach. It was true they had failed to protect many seals but he knew they had fought their hardest to try and prevent them from falling. But it still stung, failure always did. "Look, I will do whatever is needed but right now I need to see my brother."

Zachariah's face fell further still. "Sam," he said the name in disgust, "why on earth would you want to see him?"

"Because..." Dean bit back the insult that just itched to spring from his mouth, "he's my brother and I need to make sure he's okay."

"I'm sure he's fine Dean. After all he walked tall out of that motel room while you lay flat on your back. I hope you weren't planning the same strategy when it really matters." Zachariah said with an obnoxious wink.

Dean pursed his lips, his eyebrow twitched and his eyes simmered with a phosphorous glaze. It took all his self control from taking a swing at Zachariah right now. Instead he took a step along the proverbial high road. "Please..."

"No Dean," Zachariah said sharply. "Let Sam follow his path, you must take a different direction. There is no more time, there are no more delays. You must begin the trials. The world hangs in the balance and it's up to you to save it."

Castiel stepped forward from Zachariah's shadow. "Dean," he spoke in his usual monotone drawl, thick and gravelled. "Sam has made his choice despite all your protests and now you must do the same. He is stepping up to the fight in his own ill-advised way. Do you really want to follow after him like always or do you want to make a real difference."

"It speaks," Dean laughed shooting Cass a venomous look. He nodded to Zachariah, "Or has he got his arm stuck firmly up your ass?"

Castiel sighed. "Dean, you are one of the most infuriating creatures I have ever met but I know that if you do not do this then the whole world will be laid to ruin. Could you really allow that to happen, could you live with yourself?"

Dean stared at him, stared so hard his eyes began to tear up. He thought of all the people he had saved, of how hard he had fought for complete strangers. And then he thought of those lives in terms of billions. He thought of his own experiences in hell, thought of there being no escape and no hope in sight. No, he would not let the world fall into oblivion, not while there was breath still in his body. Sam would have to wait.

Sighing, Dean turned back to Zachariah. He spoke flatly, "What trials?"

Zachariah smiled coolly. "The trials of redemption Dean, you must prove you are ready for this great undertaking. Castiel will go with you. He will be your guide." Zachariah stepped forward and brought a hand up towards Dean's face. "These trials, they wont be a stroll in the park or a brawl in a motel room. Are you sure you're ready Dean?"

"Just do it you bastard," Dean growled.

Zachariah brought two fingers to Dean's forehead. He touched his skin and the world went white.


	5. Older Brothers and Demon Lovers

**CHAPTER 4: OLDER BROTHERS AND DEMON LOVERS.**

Sam Winchester stood and peered intensely into the mirror as it distorted his misconceptions into truth and threw them back at him. It stung, watching his reflection, it irritated like an insect crawling over the surface of his mind. Thinking about all that he had done to get to this point caused his head to ache and throb, it was like a root canal in his psyche.

A purring vibration coursed through his blood and his muscles felt alive, the fresh batch of demon blood was unleashing itself upon his body. He wasn't convinced he felt human anymore, every dose pulling him further down that road to oblivion.

But he felt strong, felt so powerful he was ready to take on the world.

The man caught in the mirror was pale, dark hair straggled around a pained collection of boyishly handsome features with dark eyes staring into dark eyes. Sam twisted his expression into a snarl, tried to make himself into what Dean now believed he was; a monster. Staring hard, Sam swore he could see it. The angular outline of his eyes caused the tired bags beneath to crease and swell into menacing lines. His lips parted into a sinister wall of white, his chin dipping into a pointed end and his cheeks rising to swallow his glaring eyes. Was this what he was inside?

This was pointless and this was stupid.

Behind him Ruby lay naked, sprawled across the king size bed. All the bed linen lay in a crumpled heap at her feet, their clothes scattered on the floor around where she slept. Sam stared at her reflection, her body rising up and down with every contented breath. She could sleep soundly, she hadn't just betrayed her family, betrayed her species. Her stake in all this paled in comparison to his own and while she was left to dream he was here looking for truth in a grubby mirror. It was he that was risking everything here; it was he that had undoubtedly lost everything including his own identity.

There was no Sammy anymore, there was no Dean or John or Mary. He had left the Winchester name behind along with his brother, defeated in the face of what needed to be done. All of this came down to necessity. It was the few against the many and sacrifices needed to be made so Sam had made them, even if it had cost him his soul.

Running the tap, Sam splashed cold water onto his face. It was bracing and for a moment he snapped into clarity. He looked back to the mirror and watched the water as it glided down his skin following the contours from his eyes down his cheeks and to his chin.

His breaths felt laboured as he struggled with his conscience. For all this time it had been Dean and him against the world. Together they had travelled the country in search of the next pit of danger to leap into. Never enough sleep, poor diets, the constant pranks, continued detachment from anything grounded, bad rock music; it was a life laced with violence and peril with tragedy always around the corner. They had been raised into it, any choice robbed from them with the death of their mother. Sam had every reason to resent such an existence.

And yet he couldn't feel it, the only thing inside was the heavy yearning for those past days. For all the negatives, that life had always been held in the palm of serenity. The companionship and the loyalty of his brother had been as steadfast and durable as even the greatest wall man could ever hope to build. They had been there for each other through all the horror and the loss; they were as free as any person could ever dream of. Together they faced the darkest corners of the world and pulled innocent lives from the clutches of evil. There was nothing greater than that, nothing could measure up to that feeling of nobility...nothing except the sense of loss Sam felt now.

He shuddered, the memory of his hands tightening around Dean's throat rushing back to him with such lucidity he had to shake himself clear of it. That was the point they had reached, that was how far they had fallen; slinging insults and trading blows until the other had nothing left to give. Sam knew he had betrayed his brother, but on the other hand Dean had failed to show him the same trust Sam had put in him in bygone days. They were both right and they were both wrong. Sam could see that but Dean, pig-headed to his final breath, could not.

It was like the apparition of his mother had said; Dean was weak. The man that had come back from hell with his haunted eyes and his drinking habit, that man was nothing more than a shadow of Dean Winchester. Gone were the reckless intensity and the drive that had defined him so resolutely before. In its place was hesitance and overwhelming, almost crippling remorse. The angels were wrong; Dean did not have it in him to carry the weight of the world, his back was breaking under the pressure of his own burdens. Someone else had to step up...

So it had fallen to Sam to step up and take the strain. The apocalypse was coming, Lilith had to be stopped and the angel's defeats were mounting, one after another. Something needed to be done, something drastic and it took enormous courage on Sam's part to concede and realise what lengths _he _would have go to.

He took the pain, took the stigma of being labelled a freak and accepted the loneliness. But deep within he clung to one hope to keep him going through it all. Inside a voice kept telling him that after the world was saved, after all the blood had been spilt that he and Dean would be able to fix the tattered remains of their once unbreakable bond. That was the only light for him to use to see an end.

"Sam what are you doing?" Ruby said groggily as she slinked up behind him and coiled her arms around his waist. She pressed her cheek into his back. Her body felt warm, her skin smooth as it rubbed against his. For a moment Sam allowed himself the comfort of another presence before he turned and eased her away. She looked up at him with confusion in her eyes. "What?" she asked with a half smile.

Sam shook his head and looked past her into their motel room. The first shafts of silver daylight were beginning to sneak through the gap in the curtains. Their light was enough to unveil the dust that drifted through the room. The place had been cheap and the room it seemed was even cheaper.

Ruby nudged Sam in the chest, tried to get close again but he didn't welcome her. "Seriously Sam, what is it? You running hot and cold like this, it's beginning to give me a complex. Maybe you're just in it for my blood," she smiled. Her eyes, the eyes of her vessel, had a devious glint in them.

Sam looked down at her. "That's not funny," he said.

Ruby sighed, stepped back and swallowed her neck in a shrug. She stretched out her arms and relaxed against the bathroom wall. "Whatever. Sam I realise you feel like you need to mope around right now but that kind of attitude is not going to get the job done. You need to be thinking: what would Dean _not_ do rather than what _would_ he do."

Sam's jaw flexed as he bit back the anger that threatened to lash out in Ruby's direction. He stared at her, there was no way she could understand how he felt right now, and as a demon she didn't have the capacity for such levels of emotion.

"Jesus Sam," Ruby went on, "you need to snap out of this. I know you feel bad about what you did to your brother but that is not what's important right now. We need to find and stop Lilith otherwise we can kiss this world of yours goodbye."

Sam chewed his lip and looked away from Ruby's naked form. "I know, nothing else matters; you've fed me this line before Ruby and you know what, I'm getting a little sick of hearing it. It's not you that's making all the sacrifices here."

"You think I don't know about sacrifice? I'm a traitor to my entire kind Sam. I doubt there is a single being on this planet that doesn't want me dead or who wouldn't be willing to sell me to someone who wanted me dead. I have nothing; I have given up everything for you Sam! So don't come to me now with your angst just because you and your bro' had a falling out okay, because you know what, I'm sick of hearing it too."

Ruby turned and left the bathroom, collapsed on the bed with an aggrieved groan. Sam watched her and let out a sigh before going over and lying next to her. She didn't turn to greet him. "I'm sorry Ruby," he said.

She pulled her face out of the mattress and looked at him with bleary eyes. "I don't need your apologies, what I need is for you to get your head in the game. We're nearly at kick-off time and there is no going back. Thinking about things too much will only hamper you from doing exactly what you need to."

Sam looked up at the ceiling. The room was quiet but for the birdsong twittering from outside. It was dawn. He could feel the weight now, could feel the expectations of an entire world. He was the only one that could do this and the only thing he had to count on was his unsympathetic demon cheerleader. Things were so far removed from when he and Dean had first got back onto the road again, that it felt like there was no possible way back.

Remembering that day when Dean came back into his life stirred mixed emotions inside of him. Jessica's face blazed to the front of his thoughts and burned as golden as the sun. The source of his greatest strength, her memory he clung to now. Poor innocent Jessica, she was taken in order for Sam to get to this point. Her sacrifice would not go in vain; Sam could not allow that to happen, he wouldn't. One day the world would thank him, Dean would cut a slice of humble pie and all this pain now would be nothing but a bad memory.

But what would Jessica say if she could see him now?

"Sam?" Ruby spoke quietly.

"Tell me I'm doing the right thing Ruby, please?" Sam said in a whisper, his mind drowning in the perceived disapproval of the only girl he had ever loved.

Her hand came to the side of his face; her fingers combed the curve of his cheek. "You are Sam, trust me," she said, not noticing the tear that he let slip in memory of all he had lost.


	6. Those Left Behind

**CHAPTER 5: THOSE LEFT BEHIND.**

Gradually Dean allowed his eyelids to peel back and let the world back in. Splashes of colour drifted across the distorted mess that greeted him. It was like a mirage, the canvass surrounding him a painting smeared with water. Outlines collided with each other and blurred together, misshapen figures moving across the panorama of his sight. It was a heaving mess of colour, alive and unrecognisable.

There was a dull ringing in his ears and warped sounds exploded inside his head, none of them distinguishable from the next. Static pops prickled with rumbling growls and cackled screams. If felt like he was suspended underwater, trapped in an audio nightmare.

With his surroundings a warbled mess that blended into an almighty headache, Dean brought his hands up to his temples and began to knead at the skin. His eyes snapped shut and he tried to bring his senses back to normal.

Wherever he was, Dean knew it was a long way from Bobby's salvage yard. The last thing he could remember was Zachariah's distasteful face and then a bright and consuming light. It had swallowed him whole, flooded him until he wasn't sure where it began and he ended. It had burned at his eyes, caused them to sting worse than a thousand paper cuts no matter how hard he tightened them shut. His skin had felt like it was bubbling and melting from his bones and his mind had been left devastated by the explosive ringing that ploughed through his ears and into his every thought.

Now he was left with the after effects of whatever Zachariah had done to him.

Concentrating harder than he ever had before, pushing the ache to the back of his head, Dean tried to make sense of everything. It was slow going but eventually the jumbled sounds began to waver and oscillate back into sense. He could make out human voices, lots of them melding together into a harmony of idle chatter and polite laughter.

Dean opened his eyes again, timidly this time, like someone expecting a gruesome surprise. Looking around he was able to make out discernable shapes. The room had little light but he could see people surrounding him on all sides. He couldn't make out any faces through the gloom but could see their shapes grouped together around circular dining tables, they were conversing and eating. They seemed happy, oblivious to his presence.

Sitting up, a confused look found its way onto Dean's face. He himself was seated at a table, a half eaten burger on a plate in front of him. Opposite where he sat there was an empty chair with another half eaten meal and a glass of red wine. There was a lit candle in the centre of the table with a diminutive flame offering up a romantic glow that caught in the pristine glass and silverware that surrounded it. There was one on every table, Dean noticed, and they were the only source of light to be found.

Dean pulled his hands up to his chest and felt the velvet silk of a dinner jacket. He looked down and saw he was wearing a crisp white shirt and bow-tie. In a panic he pushed his seat out to find a pair of smart black trousers on his legs and polished black shoes on his feet. He looked ridiculous; he knew it and he suddenly felt very uncomfortable.

Swivelling in his seat, he looked from table to table. Everybody else was also dressed in similar formal garb, men in tuxedoes and the women in resplendent gowns. But still their faces were hidden, were nothing more than oval shapes masked by the golden gleam of the candles.

"Goddamn you Zach, what is this crap..." Dean muttered to himself as he turned back in time to see a woman return to the empty seat across from him. She was dressed in a strapless black gown that clung to the entirety of her shapely figure. Her brown hair was tussled into a ball on top of her head, curled strands cascading out and down the side of her face. A diamond necklace plunged to the beginnings of her cleavage and the light from the candle twinkled in every meticulous stone, drew Dean's eyes to its exquisite beauty.

Seated, the woman looked across at him with rounded eyes and her rouge lips spread into a welcoming smile that lit up her entire face. "Dean," she said, "did you miss me?"

The accent, the eyes, that over confident smile, a beauty he could only grudgingly admit to; Dean felt his heart lurch as he recognised her. The name almost stuck in his throat as he said it aloud. "Bela..."

Her smile widened and she reached for her wine, poised the glass an inch from her lips. "But of course it's me honey, it just had to be me."

Dean smiled nervously and his hands rubbed against his thighs for comfort. He looked to the sides of his sockets and tried to avoid looking her in the eye. "This must be a dream," he said, his mouth dry as bone.

Bela arched an eyebrow and took a heavy gulp from her glass. She moaned with quiet pleasure and nodded at the bottle, never taking her eyes off of Dean. "You should try some, it's really quite excellent. It's been a long time since I've had the pleasure of such things."

Summoning his courage, Dean pulled his gaze to meet Bela's. There was a pained sadness in her eyes as they regarded him; it was something Dean had never seen in her while she had been alive. But it was there now, a look Dean recognised from every time he had looked in a mirror this past year. It was the look of someone who had seen terrible, hideous things and was never allowed to forget. It was the weight of a horror not known among the living and righteous.

Bela poured herself another glass of wine and took a long sip. Finishing, her tongue glided along the curve of her lip as she placed the glass back on the table. She leaned forward and her head tilted to the side, her hands clasped together in front of her. "I have to say it is good to see you again Dean, it really is."

Her voice was warm in Dean's ears and he shook his head as tortured memories spewed forth from the darkest corners of his mind. "You can't be here," he said with the beginnings of tears forming in his eyes.

She bit her lip and her hand reached for his. Her skin was cool, her fingers like icicles as they breezed over his. "Why's that, because I'm dead right, because I'm supposed to be in hell? Well, so were you Dean and yet here you are back in the world doing what you always do."

"I was given a second chance..."

Bela giggled, her head lulling back and her body trembling with the sound."That's right, the angels pulled you from the flames and left me and all the rest to burn. Let's see, you spent what, forty years down there? For me it's been one-hundred and twenty...and counting."

The surrounding chatter faded away; there was no longer any sound of laughter or the scraping of silverware against china. There was only silence. As Dean looked around, the other people in the room ambled over to their table. They surrounded it on all sides and he could feel their eyes on him, their lifeless eyes black as oil. Their faces became clear to him now and he recognised every single one, remembered them even without their familiar expressions of anguish.

The cold hand of guilt wrapped around Dean's heart, every breath he took was plagued by the sickness that swelled within. Screams echoed in his ears, desperate voices pleading for him to stop resounded inside his head. He felt the pressure of judgement as it bore down on him with the gaze of countless sets of unfeeling black eyes. They stared and they didn't speak; their hatred thick in the air around them.

"Do you remember what you did to me Dean?" Bela said as she fell back into her seat. Her smile was gone and a crimson tear began to form in the corner of her eye. It fell and left a bloody trail down her face. Another began to form in the other eye.

Dean nodded very slowly, his head feeling like a weighted ball on his neck. "I remember," he said, his voice low and forced.

"I screamed for you to stop, I begged you to forgive me but you didn't care did you? You just cut and tore at me until there was nothing left but bone and bloodied scraps. I knew I wasn't your favourite person Dean but that was a little extreme."

Dean swallowed hard and Bela stretched across the table so that her face was barely away from his own. He felt the warmth of her breath as she spoke. "I can still feel it, the cool of the knife as you slashed it across my body again and again. I can still feel every prod and every lash you gave me you sadistic son of a bitch." Her arms swept across the watching faces. "We can all still feel it and we continue to feel it now while you walk around free from the torment. Tell me Dean, where is the justice in that? Tell me how anything I ever did is worse than what you did to us?"

"Bela I'm..."

Bela interrupted suddenly. "If you tell me you're sorry then so help me god I will rip your face right off your skull."

"But I am sorry!" Dean cried and he rose to his feet. His eyes were marred by tears and his tone wavered with the undiluted emotions that reverberated at his core. He looked at all the faces around him; he remembered all the unspeakable things he had done to every one of them. He looked at Bela and remembered Alastair handing him the knife, leading him to where she was nailed to a slab of stone and he remembered every last horror he committed on her body.

"There is nothing I can do now," Dean continued. "There are no words that can make what I did go away or heal your pain. I never asked to be saved and I know that I sure as hell don't deserve to be! But if there is a chance that I can do something good, do something that can atone for even a small part of what I did then that is what I have to do. I get that that won't exactly mean shit to you right now but it's all I can offer..."

Bela stood, her face now streaked in blood. She came to Dean and took his hands, her lips came to his and he clenched his eyes shut. If they had come for their revenge then he would let them have it. He had long since accepted that he had done evil things and now he was free from hell he was tired of living with the memories of his weakness. He was ready for whatever penance was coming his way, he would accept it with arms open. He would welcome it and embrace it as a lost friend.

Bela's lips came to his ear and her body pressed against his. He smelled her perfume and it reminded him of when she was alive. "I know I deserve everything I'm getting right now," she whispered, "I and every last one of those souls you tortured earned the right to be there. I also know that if it had been me in your place or any one of them, they would have broken a lot quicker and done the exact same thing."

"I'm so sorry Bela..."

She hushed him and her hand came to his cheek, wiped at the tears he shed. "You just do what you were brought here to do okay. Promise me; swear that you will not stop until you defeat every last one of them."

Dean pulled back and looked at her face, her despondent face that wore so tragically the pain of all she had experienced. He cupped it in his hands and rested his forehead against hers. Inside, his resolve strengthened. "I promise you that, I swear I will stop them so long as there is breath in my lungs."

Bela smiled and she kissed him tenderly. "Goodbye Dean..."

And the world went white.


	7. Guiding Star

**CHAPTER 6: GUIDING STAR.**

His world was splintered into shards, blitzed by the blinding light. The sound of rushing air swirled inside his ears and his body was awash with a searing heat that threatened to reduce him to ashes. Thoughts became nothing more than flies buzzing around his head and all Dean could think was, 'here we go again!'

The world came to a stop and Dean felt his body flex with the impact. Again his senses had been thrown into disarray and with reluctance he peeled his eyes open like he was using them for the first time. His vision was blurred and he swallowed a belch, feeling a weighted sickness roll in the pit of his stomach. Unbearable ringing drilled at his ears and it felt like his heart was beating inside his skull. Constant, every thud was like the strike of a hammer against bone.

But everything fell back into place like before and Dean had sunk to his knees with his head in his hands. It was only after the ringing had stopped that he realised he was screaming. Looking up his eyes met with the intense yellows of a log fire. The crackling sound of burning wood punctuated the saturating warmth that breezed over his face.

His mouth was dry as he panted and struggled to his feet. His muscles felt rusted and Dean crooked his neck to the side half expecting it to snap off. The room was alive with a calming orange that caught and danced with the shadows it birthed. It surrounded him and infected him with its subduing warmth. It was like an embrace from a distant relative, familiar and disarming.

Dean's eyes moved in their sockets, soaked up the scene. A grand bookcase with empty shelves loomed to the left, a mahogany display cabinet showing off an array of trophies was on the far side, a velvet armchair sat in front of the fire and a mounted deer's head hung above it. All of their shadows were streaked across the walls and ceiling, entwined with Dean's like they were trying to pull him in.

Moving forward Dean realised there were no doors, there were no windows. It was a sealed room and as the hairs on the back of his neck stood rigid, he realised he wasn't alone. Another step forward and the floorboards beneath the carpet bowed and groaned with the weight. Beads of sweat began to tickle his forehead and he clenched his hands tight. His eyes fixed on the arm that was slung over the side of the chair, toyed with the glass of bourbon that rested on the side table.

He caught every breath, swallowed it so it exploded inside his head. Pulling a hand inside his jacket, Dean retrieved his colt and bent his legs at the knees into a ready stance. He narrowed the muzzle of the gun at the back of the chair, sure in the knowledge the bullets would be more than capable of ripping straight through it and into whatever was here with him.

"Dean?" A formidable figure slowly emerged from the chair and turned to face him. Instantly recognisable eyes bore into Dean and nearly threw him to the ground.

The voice deep like the depths of the ocean, the straggled beard, stocky build and those sad dark eyes all stole the air from Dean's lungs as he gasped, "Dad?"

John Winchester smiled softly and nodded. "Yeah..." his arms rose in a half shrug.

Not thinking, Dean came forward and wrapped his arms around his father, hugged him tightly and closed his eyes to the world. A grateful relief flooded him and he squeezed harder. "It's so damn good to see you," he said with a fierce sincerity.

John eased him away. Dean stepped back and looked at his father. His face was hardened by the gloom, every wrinkle and crease like a black scar across his skin. Every one was a mark of the many years he had endured rather than lived, a sign of his sacrifices. But his eyes were soft, two pools of impenetrable depth that were assuring in the darkness they held.

"It's good to see you Dean, it really is but if you're here then I can only assume things have gone...badly."

"Here?" Dean looked around the room. "Where is here exactly?"

John smiled a knowing smile and let a throaty chuckle escape his lips. "This is where souls go when they have no home to pass on to. Dean, this is what you would call purgatory."

Dean smiled. "Purgatory huh, doesn't seem too bad."

"Don't let this cosy little setup fool you, this place is as bleak as any nothingness I could ever have imagined while I was still breathing."

Dean felt a blade of guilt caress his heart. It was only in this moment that the coldness of reality set in. His father was dead, trapped here and it was Dean's fault. "I'm sorry dad; I realise I never got to tell you that. I appreciate what you did for me after the crash." Emotion took hold and Dean struggled to hold his tone. "I'm just...god, I'm just so sorry."

"I don't need your apologies Dean. I did what any father would have done. Any way you try and cut it I figure it was just my time to go, nothing you could have done and I would not have it any other way son."

Dean choked back the pain. "Still, I just felt like I should say it."

John sighed. "Funny thing about life, you can never get a handle on it until after you've lost it. I can look back now and I can see everything so clearly. I can see what I should have done and I can see the weakness that prevented me from doing what _needed_ to be done."

"What are you talking about?" Dean asked feeling an unease building with his father's words.

"Your brother Dean, I'm talking about your brother. I know everything that has happened since I've been gone. Your angel friends have been kind enough to fill me in."

"Then you'll know their singing the hymn of bullshit."

John shook his head. "Once upon a time I would have said the same thing yes. But like I said, I'm free from the constraints that still bind you. You remember what I told you about Sammy?"

Slowly Dean nodded, felt a venomous anger rise in anticipation of what might be said next. "You told me that I might have to put him down, that he might become something other than my brother. How could I ever forget that?"

"And you watched that horror become reality didn't you, events came to that point and every time your weakness prevented you from pulling the trigger. You gave your soul up to Alastair rather than find the strength to be who I wanted you to be."

"I never pulled the trigger because I knew that Sam would never turn and I was right, he never did. He may be close now but I still know that he is far from gone." Dean countered angrily.

An obvious sadness descended upon John's face. "Yes he is Dean. He is gone, Sammy is gone and we have failed him. Neither of us could protect him from himself, it was foolish to ever think we could. The fight was over the moment yellow eyes bled into his mouth."

Dean began to pace, the unease inside fast mutating into a typical anger. "You're wrong, why the hell are you saying this. Why now? I don't understand what the hell is going on here."

"You are here because there are things you need to hear. I can accept the truth, I can see things in a light that you cannot. I loved Sammy but I can accept he is lost to us, something you are unable to do, I know. You will never be able to take that final step Dean because you are weak. You're different from Sammy and me. We were always prepared to do what needed to be done. But you, you were so different, so weak..."

Rage took hold of Dean and shook him violently in its grasp. His blood was poison in his veins and he wanted to tear himself inside out. His fears taunted him, yelled at him and scolded his weakness. His thoughts urged him to respond, prove everybody wrong so he reacted, his fist crashing into the side of John's face. The impact sent his father sprawling across the floor. "I am not weak!" he roared

John looked up at him, his teeth bloodied as he smiled. "Yes you are Dean. You doomed us all remember, you surrendered yourself to evil and became its instrument. You shamed me and the Winchester name; you wasted the life I sacrificed myself for you to have."

"Shut up. Just shut the hell up...please!" Dean cried his hands coming to his ears. He was like a child trying to shield himself from the horrible truths of the big bad world. But he could not evacuate himself, his own thoughts agreed with his father. Secretly he had known this was true, he had feared it all this time. But he could not accept it and the opposing sentiments collided with ferocious impact.

"Its okay Dean, I don't expect anything from you anymore. I won't put my hopes on you saving the world. I did that when I told you the truth about Sam and you failed, you sent everyone down the path to ruin and now here you are, showing who you really are."

John went to get to his feet but Dean was on him in a flash. Manic, he slammed another fist into John's nose, a blow that sent him back to the ground. And he was over him, swinging until his arm was heavy. His knuckles felt like they had crumbled to dust, the thick wetness of blood dribbled in between his fingers.

Dean collapsed next to his father, breaths laboured and rasped like they were drawn through grated metal. His eyes were marred by tears, speckles of blood stained his cheeks. His heart was consumed by the bile of retaliatory rage.

John laughed, the sound gargled by the blood that frothed from his mouth. His nose was shattered, an eye swollen shut, his blood pooled around his head. And still he laughed. "Dean..." he panted. "You hold on to that anger, you use it. Please...I know it's hard but you have to finish this."

"But what if I can't?"

John stood over him, his face fresh as it was before. "Then we are all finished, the world will be lost to oblivion and everything we have sacrificed will have been for nothing." His hands gripped Dean's face and he leaned towards him. "So you harness your pain and your anger, use it to do what has to be done. There will be no more second chances; there is no room for error. You must be precise; you must be the Dean you once were. You cannot fail, you must not."

And the world once more fell into bright consuming light.


End file.
